Wild Cards
by mfordy24
Summary: The Great War was over. Vacuo became a desert. Nobody came back for Dust anymore. A bigger prize was up for grabs! 54 Guns of legendary power, given over by a mysterious Dealer, hidden across the wastes. These may be tall tales at best, uttered from the mouth of an old drunk, but listen close. For every lie has a hint of truth. Western style Tall tales in the world of Remnant.
1. The Last Stand at Tombstone

_Author Note: Hi all!_

 _I've been wanting to do a story like this for a long time. I'll be continuing to write Hunter as I write this, and will probably prioritise that over Wildcards. Consider this a collection of tall tales about Vacuo after the war, and a less than plausible search for powerful weapons known only as "The Cards". I hope you enjoy, and again, I'm truly open to criticism, so leave a review if you want! So without further ado... Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Humans and Faunus! I give you..._

 **Wildcards**

 **Stories of luck and gunpowder in Old Vacuo**

 **The Storyteller's Bar, outside Vacuo**

Thanks for th' drink kid… Been a hell of a long time since I got given one… Makes me wonder why you'd do such a charitable thing?

You want a story? Heh heh… I got plenty o' those, but none worth telling. Besides, I gotta be a lot drunker to tell the good ones… Ok, Ok! Stop nagging me and I'll tell ya about Tombstone…

So you know the 4 kingdoms? Atlas, Vale, Mistral and good old Vacuo? Well they weren't always there… Vacuo was once a small minin' town. But that all changed when they struck Dust. It caused a rush of tourists and businessmen to come and claim a bit o' that rainbow gold… This was good fer the upstart kingdom. Tourism caused towns and homesteads to spring up outta the sand… One such town was Tombstone…

 **The Last Stand at Tombstone**

Tombstone wouldn't have been special. It could've been just another town left to the sands when the Dust rush ended, had it not been fer the shootout t' end all shootouts. Tombstone got met by war. War that ended at the O.K. Corral.

It was between 4 lawmen who'd chased the gang known as 'The Cowboys' across the Kingdom and back. These lawmen, the Earp brothers; Wyatt, Virgil and Morgan, with their friend Duane 'Doc' Holliday, had hunted this Cowboys for over a year. This final, legendary gunfight would be told for years to come, and brought more than enough tourism to the town steads and Vacuo itself.

Back in those days, Huntsmen were thin and few between. And in a place like Vacuo, they practically didn't exist. So instead, we got Gunners. These singular soldiers used six-shooters, slug-throwers and rifles to protect their homes, or hunted criminals who escaped the clutches o' the law. They were respected an' feared in equal measure.

The lawmen were not Gunners, but were pissed at the fact Gunners got all the glory. The Cowboys; Ike and Billy Clanton, Tom and Frank McLaury and Billy Claiborne, were killers and thieves, an' had dodged jail countless times. The lawmen had enough of th' chase, and went after the bastards in th' name o' justice.

The gunfight was over in seconds. The Lawmen caught the Cowboys unaware and fired round after round into their hideout at the O.K. Corral. Tom Mclaury died first, wit' a round blasting through the poor kid's skull. The others drew their sluggers and fired back, Frank takin' 2 shots shot to the chest, and dropping dead. Realisin' they weren't gonna win, the Cowboys cut tail and ran. As they ran, Billy Clanton was shot three times and died of blood loss.

The Cowboys never resurfaced, and th' Lawmen went down in history as the greatest gunfighters from b'fore the great war. When the Dust rush ended and left Vacuo a desert in return, Tombstone might 'ave been left to the sands. Funny how life works in strange ways, huh?

The monolith appeared outta nowhere. Nobody saw it placed, and nobody saw the O.K. Corral disappear. The black stone pillar that was left in its wake would spark a whole new rush to Vacuo. Not fer Dust, but something far more powerful… The pillar had 4 sides, facing north, south, east and west. On each side was a symbol of th' suits. Nobody's quite sure if th' suits first appeared on card packs first or if that pillar was the inspiration.

To th' north pointed Diamonds: To riches and splendour now lost. East pointed Hearts: In search of peace and prosperity. South pointed Clubs: To th' cold and barbaric ocean. Finally, to th' west pointed Spades: To hard travels and harder lives.

Nobody knew what the hell the pillar meant. Some took it as a sign from the gods, while others believed it were just some silly prank played by the locals. The smart knew it was something far, far worse. Still, nobody knew what it really meant. Not until about 2 weeks later, when the first tale of the 4 Aces was told, and the Dealer first appeared.

The Dealer's a great story, but I need more beers in me before I tell that… But if you're willing to provide, I can tell a few more tales until then…


	2. 54 Guns

You want t' know about the Guns? Where'd the Hell you'd learn 'bout them? Oh, "School" huh? Well, don't bother lookin' for 'em. Last Gun left the world when I was still young! 60's young right? Bah! You kids don't know nothin'!

Did I ever see one? Ha ha ha… More than one kid! I was drawn to the damn things like a magnet… or maybe that was just my luck. My pop always said my knack was getting' into trouble. That's what we called Semblances back then, an' we knew about as much as we did now. Some could see through walls, other's never needed sleep, whatever the hell it was, it was a skill nobody else had. A "knack" for somethin'.

You know what kid? You've bought me beer, so you get a story. I'll tell you all you need to know about the Guns. Yea, that's Gun with a big ol' G at the front. Ya see, these aren't like your average six-shooter. They're all… different. They each got a knack, like you and me, right? One might have a neverendin' supply of rounds, another might be able to hit yer prey through walls. One might cut into yer hand with each killing shot, and one might just use yer very sanity as ammunition.

Yeah, not all the Guns were good to use. Trouble is, once ya got one, ya couldn't get rid of it. Yer stuck wit' it, for good or ill. Didn't quite matter, for the Guns were rarer than gold. Flashing one to ev'ry passer-by could earn you attention, reputation, or fear. It could also earn you a bullet in the back of yer skull.

See, you couldn't get rid of a Gun while ya breathe, but once yer dead, it's up for anybody's greedy hands. If you held a Gun, you held power personified, and that was enough. However, this meant that Gunslingers, those that held Guns? Yeah, they duelled for the power those weapons held. Those that held more than one Gun had what was called a "Hand". I've heard stories of those who own Hands, and none of 'em dared hold mo' than 21.

No! Not 21 Guns ya nitwit! That's plain stupid! Nah, each Gun was attached to a suit; ya know, diamonds and clubs and the like? And a number or face from that suit. Each suit had a certain trait attached. Clubs were all about power, Diamonds favoured speed, while Spades were accurate to the ends o' Remnant. Hearts were… weird. They accentuated 'Luck' and were the weirdest of all the guns. The 'weakest' of each suit were the 2s, though each one was more powerful than any slug-thrower I'd seen. You got stronger as the numbers grew, followed by th' faces being above th' numbers. You know, Jack, Queen and King! Gods, does nobody gamble anymore?

After the faces, you got the Ace. The 4 Aces were legendary pieces, more powerful than any Gun in the world. Well… All bar 2. These Guns were stronger, or faster, or just better than their predecessors. They'd have been called marvels of engineering if the Dealer didn't exist. Hm? The other 2? Heh, some don't even believe they exist. Even I'm not sure. The last 2 are the Jokers, Red and Black. I don't know nothin' 'bout them, so don't ask!

What if nobody picks one up? Well I've never seen it, but an old friend of mine told me the Dealer himself picked up Gun, and turned it back into the deck without a word, and only a smile on his face…

The Dealer? Aw Hells I ain't drunk enough yet… Tell ya what, keep buying me drinks, and I'll tell about my encounters. I've seen each one, and remember them clear as crystal! I ain't that old, kid, jeez…

What's that? Ya wan't an example?! Aw, ya killin' me here kid… Go find some oth'r ole drunk to annoy, eh?

…You're stickin' around, ain'tcha? Aw, hell, alright… But only 'cause you're buying me drinks! Now, a good story about a Gun… Hmm… How 'bout the first Gun I saw? Yeah I remember! Clear as a summer's day! I told ya before, I ain't that old! But the first Gun I saw… Must'a been a low number… Got it! Tha 2 o' Spades. The Last Word…


	3. The 2 of Spades: Last Word

This must'a been just after the Gun Rush started, because I'd only heard legends until that foggy winter day in Sarsaparilla. It was a small town, one of the hundreds that sprang up with th' Guns, and it wouldn't stay long. None of 'em did…

Anyway, I couldn't 've been much older than you, kid. I'd come to the desert like everybody else. I'd figure I'd find a nice tidy plot of land to farm Dust on. Part o' me felt Dust shouldn't just be in the hands of bastards like Schnee and Dufraine. I was uh… a lot more optimistic back then…

Back to th' subject at hand, I had headed to Sarsaparilla to get supplies and tools for the coming work. Leaving the store, I got jumped by a gang of lowlifes. Their leader, I'd assume that's what he was since the oth'r 2 didn't talk, held a Six-shooter he clearly knew how to use. He told me to drop my tools and hand over any Lien I had. I dropped the tools immediately, lettin' em clatter to the ground.

Then I heard footsteps behind me. A elderly lookin' Dandy type walked out from behind me… at least I thought he was elderly, he had hair whiter than snow, and held a cane in his right hand. Th' Dandy wore a white buttoned suit with a blue waistcoat, and didn' have a speck o' sand on his shoes. Funny, the things you remember… I can't remember what I had fer breakfast, but I still know th' state of a stranger's shoes.

The Dandy held himself arrogantly, struttin' the kind of swagger you get when you know you can't lose. But his cane… His cane was a work of art! Gold inserts on a bone handle, and etching all the way down the mahogany stick it rested on. On the very end of his cane handle were 2 etched gold spades, stacked ov'r one another. Could've brought a tear to th' eye…

He steps between me an' the gangers, and very calmly says "Now, boys… Can't you leave the good tourist be?" His accent placed his past in th' finer parts of Atlas, all smooth and pompous. He spoke wit' a smile, and clearly preferred the pacifist life. These gangers though, they wanted what they came fer, and they'd get it anyway they could.

The Leader piped up again. "Get outta here, old man! This don't concern you!" He waved his gun at th' dandy t' scare him off, but the gentleman simple chuckled softly. Wit' a piercing blue eyed stare, he looked at these gangers and sighed.

"No."

The leader looked as though he'd been slapped 'bout the face. He was all rage 'nd bile, and looked as though he'd shoot the Dandy there and then. He then broke into this crazy wide smile. "That's gonna be yer last words, old man! Sic 'em!" His lackeys rushed at us, and I thought we'd be dead as dodos. I closed my eyes as I saw a blade descend, aimed at my head. Hey, I never said I was brave…

In all fairness, had the Dandy not been there, I'd have been dead right then. But th' stranger intervened to save my life. Even today, I haven't the foggiest clue why he did it, but I'm gods-damned glad he did. The stranger had pulled his cane up t' block the dagger. He switched his grip, holding th' cane more like a baton now, and went to town on those gangers.

He broke the first's arm fast'r than I could see. Drivin' the tip down into, and then through, the man's arm. The ganger screamed wildly, as the Dandy twisted his stick inside the man's arm, breakin' it badly. Crimson blood had soaked the dusty cobbles we stood on, and the Dandy removed his cane from the Ganger's arm.

He then turned to face the second Ganger. This lowlife had trainin' in the martial arts, and thought that might give him the edge. He unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks to stumble the Dandy, but he blocked each strike, using the cane as a shield against this barrage. The Dandy returned the blows, using his cane like a shield, parrying away the fighter's blows.

The fighter was good, but th' Dandy was better, using an opening to slam the handle of his cane into the Ganger's gut, causing him to double over. The Dandy smashed his kneecap into the Ganger's head, knocking him out cold.

The first ganger was still cradlin' a broken arm when the Dandy finished him. He looked up to see the Dandy above him, cane raised, and realised this would be the last thing he saw. The Dandy slugged the cane-head into th' Ganger's jaw, ripping it from his head and spraying more blood t' the floor.

Th' Dandy then turned to th' Leader, who still held the six-shooter, but now in a shaky hand. He'd seen an old man beat the livin' crap outta people he thought were untouchable. Understandable then, that he was probably shittin' his breaches when the Dandy turned to face him. Panic set in, and the ganger fired.

Not a bad Idea when ya think about it, but I don't think he was thinkin'. The Dandy dodged the shot, movin' faster than lightnin' and watched the Ganger prime another shot. As the Leader pulled the trigger, he grabbed the boy's arm and pointed it at his fighter friend. He didn't realise what he'd done 'til his friend stopped breathin'. He stared at the Dandy, wit' a face of pure terror.

"What in the god's name are you?" The leader whispered, too scared to scream. The Dandy chuckled, holdin' the cane normally once again. "Me? I'm your nightmare kid." He laughed. I hadn't noticed it at the time, but it wasn't a nice laugh. Less "refined gentlemen", an' more "bloodthirsty killer". He twisted the cane so the tip was under the boy's chin. Th' Dandy whispered in this odd, almost perverted way to th' leader. I don't think I'll forget the words he said.

"And this. This is my Last Word!"

The shot rang out across the street, and the Ganger slumped to the floor, blood dribblin' outta th' new hole in his face. The Dandy was breathin' heavily, lookin' at the body like a pack animal might a new meal. He regained his composure, fixed his slightly dishevelled silver hair, and strutted back out of the alley, patting me on the back as he went.

"I'm terribly sorry you had to witness that, my boy. Try to forget it." And with that, he was gone. I didn't even try to look fer him. I didn't want to. That day I learned the Guns were powerful things. So powerful they can make a man… change… Change into something he wasn't supposed t' be...

What could The Last Word do? Not sure kid, but every report I read talked about the wielder gainin' much faster reaction times. I don't think that's it. I think it awakens that animal part of yer soul. The part we thought we'd stamped out. It makes you better, but robs you of yer humanity. All because you gave yer last word... Ah, ignore me. I'm just gettin' artistic on ya. What next then kid?

You want more stories huh? Well you know the rules. Another beer, an' you get another story!

 **Atlas**

In a palace in Atlas, far away from these stories, a boy looks on his future. The cane had been in his family for years, dating back to just after the Great War. It was a fantastic piece of work, made of mahogany and gold, and finished with a pair of embossed spades worked into the back end of the grip.

It was his father's before him, and his grandfather's before that, dating back to his great grandfather Archibald during the post war dust rush. He couldn't wait for it to be his.

While he would never have admitted it, he did take it down from the case it spent most of it's life in and look at it closely. When he became a Huntsman, this would be his weapon. No messy switching between forms, and a well balanced weapon. It would be perfect for him. He never held it for long. If he did, he saw something hidden, just in the corner of his eyes. It sacred him, but in time he wouldn't notice it.

He quickly put the cane back as he had left it. Besides, he had to go and make himself presentable. It was a momentous day today. Weiss would be returning home from Beacon. And what kind of a brother would he be if he didn't say hello.


	4. The King of Clubs: Godhand

What do ya mean "Only a 2"! All the Guns are powerful as sin, understand? Saying a Gun is ONLY a Gun, is like saying the best whore in the brothel is still only a whore… Wait, that's a bad example. Look, either way, all Guns should be respected. Don't ever call one "Only a Gun" again alright… Ok… Judging by yer attitude, you want a story of something a littl' bigger, eh? Then let me tell you about the King of Clubs: Godhand.

 **The King of Clubs: Godhand**

I met Lee about 2 years after the incident in Sarsaparilla with The Last Word. By then, my little independent Dust farm was just outta my hands. Weren't my choice, mind you, but Schnee forced his way onto th' land and stole it from me! The damn nerve on that bastard… My farm was my home, y'see? So without a place to rest my head, I began drifting from place to place. Wasn't all that rare back in the day. Most were farmers like me who'd been muscled out or were just unlucky. Some were Gunners, searching for criminals to put in the dirt. Others were those criminals, on the run wit' nowhere to go.

My wanderin' landed me in Talma, a small town near Kensance in the south. It was a lonely little village, but accommodatin' enough. I rented a room above a bar in th' town and paid for it by helpin' the bartender. He was an older man, wit' a bushy grey moustache that covered 'is top lip.

My time there helped me hone my Knack. I could pin a guy as soon as he walked in the room. I call it "Readin'", and it helped me to no end as a 'tender. Barmen are there for 2 reasons, to hear yer problems, and to sell ya drinks. I heard many a story there, some mundane, others so fantastic I still remember the details. Some were even about the Guns, and I listen'd extra close on those ones. I'd developed some strange fascination with 'em since the night in Sarsaparilla, and a part of me wanted to own one someday. Don't ask me why. I was a dumb 16-year old. It was hard to start, but the townsfolk warmed eventually.

Then Lee came. I've never met a man quite like him since. He was tall, and built with tight muscle, like he would spring apart at any moment. He wore a scarf of bright, vibrant colours 'round his neck, and had a Stetson to cover his face. He was of Mistral descent, and was hiding somethin'. My knack told me he was a traveller, weary and beaten to a pulp. My mind set t' work and I figured he'd come from Dock Abernathy on the sea front.

He sat down at the bar, and I noticed 2 things he'd kept well hidden before. The first was his tail. He had a bright yellow monkey tail pokin' out from under his slacks. This made him Faunus. Now, you think it's bad of' Faunus now? It was hell then. It made you suspicious, whether you had claws, ears or, in his case, a monkey tail. In the north you got better treatment. In the south you got a noose and 3 days to leave town. It was sick, and hurt me each time I heard of it. We've come a long way, an' yet we're still so far off…

But the tail wasn't what shocked me, getting' back to the tale. Sarsaparilla had been filled with all sorts, Faunus included. What shocked me was the guy's arm. His left was fine, if a bit hairy, but the right was metal. All of it. It whirred slightly each time he moved a digit or took a drink. It moved like flesh, and that's what freaked me out.

I think he noticed, and tried to hide it amongst his poncho. I gave him a smile, to say "It's alright, I don't mind." He moved it back out. Must'a been self-conscious 'bout it, I reckon. He asked for a beer, and I poured one out for him. Then I turned on the ol' charm.

"So, what's yer name stranger?" I asked, falshin' a smile as I passed 'im his drink.

"Lee. Thank you." He said. He had a very soft voice, and an accent I couldn't quite place. It sounded like an odd mix of Vacuo and Mistral.

"Ok. So where're you from, Lee?"

"Menagerie. South of Mistral."

"Ah. A world traveller then! Come to see the sights?"

"No. I am looking for something."

"Oh. Well I hope ya find it, friend! Another drink?"

He picked up the second stein and drained it. His arm hissed and hummed as he put the drink down, before softly clanking the hand palm down against the bar. On the back of his hand was a large brass suit of clubs, with a large K on the inside. Lee caught me starin' at it, but this time sighed.

"I lost my arm when I was younger. I was in an accident and it had to be amputated. A… friend built this one for me. Do you have any other questions?" I shook my head, slightly ashamed I let myself stare for too long. I went back to cleanin' a glass, but then a voice shot up out one o' the dinin' booths.

"Yea' I got a question! Ya know any tricks, Monkey man!" Laughter roared from the booth as Cameron Kilcaid rose up with lackeys in tow. In every bunch, there's a bad apple. Kilcaid wasn't bad per say, but was arrogant and believed he was invulnerable, bein' the son of the town sheriff an' all. He was a bully though, and a man I didn't much like.

Still don't mean he deserved what he got, in the end.

He strutted over to Lee, who were staring down into his glass, ignorin' Kilcaid. The boy didn' like that too much. "Hey!" He yelled, "I'm talkin' to you, furball!" Kilcaid shouted, while Lee kept his head down. Kilcaid turned an' said to his compadres "What is it then? Is he deaf or just stupid!" They roared wit' laughter, an' I gritted my teeth. Kilcaid turned back to Lee, getting right next to him, sticking 'is face up by Lee's.

"Now boy…" he whispered. Never liked it when people whispered. "This is my town, you understand? I don't like being ignored in my town!" Lee stayed quite, staring through the back wall o' the bar. The kid didn't like that. "Oh! You wanna get hurt, don't'cha?" He raised his fist, an' I reached for my pistol.

I hear a crack. The sound of small bones shattering slowly. Lee had Kilcaid's fist in a vice-like grip, and Kilcaid was yellin' to the roof in pain. Lee let him go an' just turned back t' his drink, wit' Kilcaid's lesson taught. I thought that would be th' end of it. But Kilcaid was a proud man, an' didn't like to be made a fool of.

I heard another crack. A pistol cocking. One of Kilcaid's lackeys had the barrel against Lee's head, ready to fire. I try to calm the kid down, but nothin' works, the boy's just too worked up. Then Lee twitched, and the gun fired.

The round hit harmlessly through a glass pane, smashing it to pieces, an' my brain began working out what was going on. Lee had twisted around faster than I could see, and broken the boy's shootin' arm. The pistol fell to the floor and Lee let the kid go. There'd be a fight now, no chance of protecting anybody. And Kilcaid's friend Hank made the first move.

Hank was a bear of a man, all muscle an' fat, and stood heads taller than Lee. He threw a fist, an' learned the big difference between strength and speed. Lee ducked under his arm, moving around Hank and getting behind him. He punches Hank twice in the back, and sweeps his legs out from under him using his tail. Neat trick right? Hank tried to grab a table to cushion his fall, but the wood just snapped under his weight. He fell hard, and Lee finished him with an axe kick to the skull, knocking him out cold.

Kilcaid was outta options. He drew his own gun, an' didn't waste his chance. He pulled the trigger and shot Lee in the back. Or at least I thought he did. I heard 2 shots, and 2 bodies hit the ground. The bar owner fell first, shot by Kilcaid as he was coming down the stairs from a deep sleep to see the racket. Of all the things Kilcaid was, he wasn't a killer by choice. He had only a few seconds to recognise what he'd done before 2 shells of buckshot tore his guts apart, killing him instantly.

I stood in shock as silence filled the tavern once more. 2 men were dead, and 2 more badly injured. The bar was ruined, and I stood in the centre of it all. Lee turned around, his fist clicking back into place, concealing the shotgun built into his arm. He took a last drink and said a few short sentences to me before leaving.

"I am leaving this place. I suggest you do to. They will see 2 bodies and draw their conclusions against you, Outsider. Good luck, and may the gods lay fine dirt on your path."

And just like that he was gone. That moment I stole a horse and fled the town, the fear of the gods in my stomach. A bounty was placed on my head for 2 murders not long after, and my life as a criminal began…

Weren't expectin' that, were ya? I never saw Lee personally again, but I heard he reached his own happiness. I found his obituary 2 decades after, and it took me a moment to recognise him. Had a wife and 3 loving kids. Also learnt his surname was Wukong, but that don't matter so much, right?

Want another story? You know th' rules, one beer for one story. How 'bout I tell you the time I ran booze with a few other no-goods like me? Oh there's a Gun involved! One of a small amount of Guns I'd be scared of holdin'. 4 o' Diamonds. "Prisoner".


	5. The 4 of Diamonds: Prisoner

Okay, I met the Prisoner a few years after the shooting in Talma, and it still creeps the fuck outta me… I told I was running booze, right? Ya see, back in the day, there were some weirdos who thought that beer and the like would allow the Grimm into us, and banned it in places around both Mistral and Vacuo.

This did 2 things. Number 1: It made those places boring as hell, and 2: It jacked the price of booze up astronomically. Yeah, I know some big words ya dolt. Anyway, the price increase attracted unsavoury types who worked in, uh… "Hard to find" commodities. They made bootleg booze an' shipped it across the continent, and were paid a hefty sum o' Lien to do so. I was already a criminal by placement, and the cash I had at the time was a few coins. So I joined up, and began makin' booze.

It was a few months after that I went in with a few friends to start makin' our own bootleg booze. I'd always liked the idea of independence, and my dust farm was far behind me. In the end it was Southpaw, Rickshaw, Greene, Barty an' me, as the Southern Independent Alcohol Delivery Service, or SIADS for short! No, not S-I-A-D-S ya nitwit, say it like "Sigh-ads"! Gods, you're dumber than a bag o' rocks, kid.

SIADS was a veritabl' rogues gallery if you ask me. The 5 of us runnin' a smugglin' business was unprecedented for the time. Bootleggin' was firmly in the hands of the mafia and similar cutthroats, so a small group like us wasn't a concern to them, at first. Then we started making big bucks, stealing away business from then. Then we got their attention!

So what did we do? We ran, like we always did. The whole SIADS gang were runners at the heart. There was Southpaw, who was a literal bear of a man. Guy had fists like steaks, I swear. His whole hand was clubs. No, he never had any Guns, why you askin'?

OH! I never explained the idea Hands did I? Not the Gun kind of Hand, but the Human Hand? I said before that each suit represented somethin' about a person at least, right? No?! Dammit, I shoulda said that first!

Right, each suit describes the type o' Gun, ya know that much. Well, eventually that became how you describe a person. You could say, "She's got Spades to spare." Or maybe "He's got a hand o' Clubs." Like I did when describin' Southpaw? You could say "That girl's gotta pair o' Hearts." But you didn't say that without expectin' a slap back in the day, heh heh…

So what does each one mean, I hear you ask? Well I'll go through each suit individually fer ya. Clubs represent strength of body and mind. That's another thing, the suits represent 2 aspects of a person, 1 physical and 1 mental. People with a "Hand of Clubs" are stronger than most, or were mentally strong. Spades represented a persons reflexes or intelligence. The smarter a person, the 'bigger their Spade'. Hearts represented beauty and charisma, which should explain the joke I made earlier… Finally Diamonds meant a person's agility and decision makin' ability.

If ya want an example, I can give you your hand. Lets see… You're kinda spindly, you've convinced me to tell these tales, and I can't tell you're quickness and intelligence by lookin' at you… I'd say your hand has a pair of 5s; one diamond and one spade, a 3 of clubs for yer strength, and a high pair of 2 eight of Hearts. That's a long winded version though, most just use the one suit to describe one attribute. Ya understand now? Good, back to the story.

Like I said before, there were 5 of us in SIADS. Me, Southpaw, Rickshaw, Greene and Barty. Southpaw was a big bear type chap. He was a Faunus with claws on his hands. Worked as a thug and enforcer for the mob before SIADS. Couldn't tell it by lookin' at him, but he was a real gentleman. Rickshaw was our driver, shipping booze across the great kingdom o' Vacuo. He was fast and quick-witted, all Diamonds, and that's just what you want from a driver.

Nancy Greene was our leader I suppose. She was smart, with a few clubs in her hand too. I was probably sweet on her, but I was young at the time. She was 8 years my senior, and I had absolute respect for her. Last was Barty. She was our brewer, and knew several hundred chemical formulas off the top of her head. Trained in Atlas, at one of their science academies. Bit abrasive at times, but with Spades to spare. Last was myself, the seller. I always preferred talkin' to fightin' and my job was to get buyers in each town we came across.

We'd been runnin' for about 3 months before the first hit squad tried to end our business. From firing at us with automatics, to tryin' to set our caravan on fire, we survived every attempt on our lives like cockroaches. We'd been a thorn in the mob's side as soon as we got traction and business partners. They had every right to try an' kill us. You don't steal from the mob unless you're sure you wont get caught, or if you're jus' plain stupid.

Still, we lived. We trekked across the Kingdom to provide only the finest bootleg alcohol. We mainly stuck to back routes to cover our trail. This would end up bein' our downfall. It was outside a place called Midway, a month after the first hit squad. Midway was a large city on the edge of a thick forest, and was well known as a trading port at the time.

Dry weather had caused a wildfire to tear through the forest, leaving ash in its wake. We were gonna use that to cover our trail, refuel in Midway, and then move on to our next target. 'Bout half way through the ashfield, we met the Prisoner. I'll remember that moment until the day I die, swear on my grave.

He was standin' in the middle of the trail. Rickshaw slowed to a stop in front of him, and beeped his horn to shift the guy of the road. He didn't budge. Eventually Rickshaw got tired of waiting, and leapt of the caravan, calming the horses pulling it. He walked over to the Prisoner and yelled at him to get outta the way. By this time, we'd all begun poking our heads outta windows and the roof to see what was goin' on. Rickshaw yells his lungs out at this guy for a good few minutes, before turnin' back, shakin' his head.

"Guy won't move! We'll have to go around!" Rickshaw shouts, as he turns to get back on the carriage. He took one last look at the Prisoner and gasped.

That was the last thing he saw. The Prisoner had pulled his piece and shot Rickshaw through the eye. Rickshaw fell and screamed, clutchin' at his face. The Prisoner shot him again, hitting him in the stomach. I got a look at his face, and it was like he was concentrating on the gun as hard as he could. It was all strained, eyebrows pulled close in, his teeth bared in this awful grimace. He was sweatin' too, and it struck fear in my heart. He looked at me and whipped round as fast as he could.

Southpaw, thinkin' fast as the Prisoner fired at me, pulled me back in. He tossed me back into the carriage like I was a porcelain doll. In his hand was a sawn-off lever action carbine. "Leave this bastard to me." He said calmly, before kickin' open the door and leaping out. He fired 3 shots before he died. Each one missed. The Prisoner had reloaded as he was shot at, and fired every cylinder into Southpaw.

Greene had picked up her own rifle, and thrust one into Barty's unwillin' hands. Barty was a pacifist at heart, an' hated guns with a passion. Greene poked out the top o' the caravan and shot at the Prisoner. She hit Southpaw's corpse, which the Prisoner was using as a shield. The fact she shot a friend scared her, I knew. She had loved everyone like a mother loves her kids. The Prisoner shot her through the throat, and she fell back into the caravan, choking on her blood.

This was too much for Barty, who fled the Caravan screaming, before the Prisoner shot her in the back. I heard the body drop and knew I would be next. Not sure quite how I reacted, to be honest. I hope you never have to go through somethin' like that kid. Losing 4 of yer closest friends saps the will outta a man. I didn't have my friends to spur me on, and was left with only their memories. Turns out that's all I needed.

I could hear the Prisoner movin' around outside. I don't think he'd seen me inside, but I knew he'd be comin' to check. His pace was odd by the sound of his steps. Kinda like he was draggin' something behind him. I eventually realised one of my friends' shots had hit their mark, and the bastard was limpin' on one leg! If I could hit the other, he'd drop an' I'd have the upper hand!

But a shot like that would be hard to make. I drew myself back into the corner of the caravan, after layin' a dishcloth over Greene's neck an' got'er to put pressure on it. I tried to hide myself, an' took aim at the open door. The steps got closer. Thunk, shhhhk, thunk, shhhhk. He wheeled round the door, and I pulled the trigger. I put my heart into that shot, every last ounce o' my stinkin' luck and hoped to the hells and back I made my mark.

Did I hit? Well I'm still here today, right? I got the sonnuva bitch in his last good knee, an' he toppled to the ground. His Gun slipped outta his hand an' to the ash caked dirt below. I pulled myself out the caravan an' aimed my revolver at his skull. There were tears in 'is eyes, and a tortured smile on his face. He whispered to me the last words any man want's to hear when about to kill a man...

"Thank you."

I ended his life with a single shot to the skull. Do I regret it? No. Boy had suffered enough at the hands o' that gods damned Gun. I said before ya couldn't get rid o' a Gun fer good or ill? That's what I mean by ill. His face now made perfect sense. He wasn't strugglin' to raise the Gun, but was fightin' against. Tryin' to save us from him… I told ya. Good or ill…

The Gun still lay on the ground, carelessly tossed away. I daren't touch it, lest I be bewitched like the poor Prisoner. Instead, I scooped it up into a holster, and kept it far away. I knew it was a Gun by the markings on the base o' th' grip. 4 blood red diamonds, in a long vertical line, like the bars of a prison. That's how it got its name. You were its Prisoner.

I locked the damn thing in a jewellery box and hightailed it to Midway. Greene was still breathin', bless her soul, and a doctor might save her. It was wishful thinkin'. The doc in Midway told me she died shortly after Barty. I "hallucinated her breathin' while under extreme stress." I took her body back to the road where the attack had happened. With the help of an undertaker, I buried my friends there. Gods rest their souls.

As for the Prisoner, the Undertaker asked if I knew him. I said he was a Prisoner. That was all I could say. So alongside my friends' bodies lies one other, with a headstone that reads, "The Prisoner. May the Gods have mercy upon his soul".

As for the Gun, I wanted rid o' it. Midway was a dock that took in plenty o' trav'lers, and I found the perfect man to sell it to. He was fat, and sweatin' to the heavens in Vacuo. He wore a smart tailor-made suit and worked for a weapons company operating outta Vale. He and his co-workers were studyin' the Guns, findin' out what made 'em tick. I sold him the Gun for a tidy profit and he went on his way, with a warnin' to not touch the damn thing with bare hands.

I hope he found out what caused the thing to possess people, and cut it out. I don't care if these Guns are from some Dealer or are just "gifted" these powers; nothin' should have that much power over a person. I just hope sent the thing to hell. I've seen the Guns and I can believe in the Dealer, but if there were ever a Gun who would seek a wielder, it'd be The Prisoner…

Blegh… after that I need another drink… You don't have to oblige this time kid. I've gotten drunk enough to spill all my stories. Right… next up would be… lets see… Maybe a Heart? Okay, how 'bout the Bloody Queen of Hearts?

 **On a dirt-strewn road, near the town of Midway**

The shadowed road at my feet was oddly familiar. Like I'd seen it in a dream. Strange, but almost welcoming. The trees hung over the track, blocking the sun, leaving a cold atmosphere. I glanced back and forth as I walked on. Midway would be only a few days away. I'd camp in a clearer area and relax.

To my right, I made out neatly ordered stones; the first curious sign of anybody else out on this path. I walked over and my heart leapt when I realised they were tombstones. These were graves. 5 graves made at the edge of the road. 4 lined the edge of the road, and further back was another… The first 4 had lost their names long ago to weathering and nature, but the rear grave still had a name attached to it.

Or what looked like a name at least. All that was left was "May the Gods have mercy on his soul."… Odd, that was used shortly after the Great War, to mark the graves of killers and criminals… Someone had buried him, possibly amongst his compatriots. Someone cared for the killer… Or felt sorry for him…

My brain suddenly clicked as my semblance felt something else below. There were 6 things buried: 5 bodies and a much smaller box next to the criminal's grave, buried just under the dirt. I dug down with my hands to find the treasure, and came across a locked jewellery box. I pulled open the lid and something clattered to the ground.

It was a six-shooter. The grip was a finely carved bone white, and the pistol itself was in a leather holster. On the base of the grip were 4 diamonds, coloured deep red and lined up down the grip. I felt compelled to hold such a beautiful weapon, and unclicked the holster.

I felt my body break once my fingers touched the weapon. My thoughts weren't my own. I was trapped within my own body. My mind yelled one thing in deep, hungering voices. "KILL". My knees hit the dirt as my body wracked with pain. I cried in excruciating pain and looked up through tear stained eyes to see a man in black, face hidden by shadows, kneeling before me. He had a hideous yellow smile. He whispered in dark tones with a deep chuckle…

 _ **"I'm surprised you're the first… doesn't matter though. The game goes on, and a new hand must be dealt. Good luck friend… and rejoice in what's to come. The people will fear me again…**_

 _ **And they will fear you even more…"**_


	6. The Queen of Hearts: Bloody Mary

This is the story of Bloody Mary. A story of a tortured soul if I've ever heard one. Bloody Mary is one of the few Guns I've never seen first hand, but the story of its 'Slinger was known across the north. She was more than distinctive in appearance. You could tell she'd been through hell just by lookin' at her, apparently. With long, black hair with a streak of dark red runnin' from fringe to neck; a torn, dirtied weddin' dress that once may have looked beautiful, and a single dead rose held at her side.

The biggest shock wasn't what she wore, or what she had. It was what she didn't have. Her right arm was missin', severed at the shoulder. Her dress even held the red stains from the blood when she lost it. The story of how she lost it is sadder than I can tell, and in all honesty, I don't wanna tell it. But you've been kind, buyin' me all these drinks, and you wanna story. So you get my best.

I was workin' in Midway, bartendin' once again. I'd laid low in Midway followin' my encounter with the Prisoner, and got a job pullin' drinks in a bar called "The Shining Ace", an' it paid well. I got a bed to rest my head, and free drinks when I wanted. I also got to meet many people. Some interestin', some saddenin' and a policeman from San Belleza, who told me the story of Bloody Mary, or as she was known on her weddin' day, Mariposa Tristeza

It was a brilliant day in San Belleza. The sun beat down from on high, casting a shadow from the church spire. Her family were cheering her on from below. She looked beautiful in her dress, and her newly wed husband stood by her, closer than ever. This would be the best day of Mariposa's life. She walked by her husband through the streets of San Belleza, holding him close as child ran past her. They moved her mind to when she would have their child. She looked forward to that day with all her heart, as they walked slowly to the Castillo de naipes for their reception.

Something scraped her thigh as she walked. Something from inside her husband's jacket. It felt like a handle to something. It was a gun. Why did he have a gun? Her man was a peaceful, gentle man, and wouldn't touch the things! Her mind raced as she tried to make a reason why her husband carried a gun.

Then there was a loud bang, and the world seemed to fall out from under her...

Red began forming over her dress from her shoulder. Then came the pain. She screamed as the blood seeped from her shoulder, staining her snow-white dress. Her hand leapt to her shoulder and felt the cut, as her arm slipped from her body and clattered to the ground, wedding ring still on her hand. Mariposa fell to the ground, and saw her husband draw a pistol on the attacker.

He was too slow, and a red splatter burst from his chest as he fell beside her. Time slowed to a crawl for Mariposa, left only with her husband's lifeless corpse, and the pistol he was holding. His hand wouldn't let go of the fine weapon. Blue steel with gold swirls all along the barrel, with 7 clubs running along its length. Overcome with grief, Mariposa pulled the body of her lover close and cried tears of pain and sadness for them both.

A man stood above her, hands in his pockets, looking at the Gun in her husband's hand. He got down to look her husband's body in the eyes. The he spoke; with a voice that was a mix of solemn sadness and hidden glee…

"Damn. And I thought he'd go far…" said the stranger, pulling the pistol out from her husband's grip. "Seemed like he could'a made use of it too. Protector will get its day…" He stood back up, and turned to face Mariposa. "Young lady, you seem to be in a spot of trouble." He reached into his coat and drew out a thin-looking deck, like half the cards were missing. He held it out to her with a yellow, gap-toothed smile. "Lets even the odds, shall we?"

She drew the top card, and revealed a Queen of Hearts, wielding a smile and a bloody dagger. She looked up at the man and understood. She looked at The Dealer. Looking back at the card, it had changed into a long barrelled revolver of black steel, with a deep red handle. Along the barrel, a name was scratched in. "Bloody Mary", with the 'a' formed into the shape of a heart.

Time shifted back to normal. The shooter had picked up her husband's pistol, and was now nothing more than a wild animal, frothing at the mouth and howling to the sky. Mariposa pulled herself from the asphalt below her and levelled the pistol at the shooter.

Of her own volition, she shot that man dead, with a single blast through the monster's heart.

She wandered past the policeman who had witnessed the whole event, walked out of the town, and left everything behind. She wasn't Mariposa anymore. She was gone. All that was left was pain.

And the Bloody Mary.

As she walked away, a man in black stood in the shadows, lighting a cigarette and smiling to himself. He collected the fallen Cards and returned them to his Deck, before disappearing all together.

I'd heard the rest of the policeman's story before. A vigilante wielding a legendary Card starts a one-woman war against the criminals of the world to avenge her husband. The one armed Gunslinger of anger and pain. She was famous across the Kingdom, almost a hero. That's what somethin' like the Cards cause. Worship of killers and murderers. Ain't sayin' she wasn't justified, but killers left a bad feeling in my stomach. One that don't shift easy.

What's weird to me though is the gun's power. Lotta people say it doesn't have one. Some even say her gun wasn't a Card… But hearin' the stories told me she's got power behind her. Bloody Mary is anger personified. Her gun was accurate to over 500 metres out, if you believe some stories. Others claim it only ever hit a person's heart, which is the one I really believe if you ask me

Nobody knows what happened to her in the end. My guess is she gave up harbourin' her pain, and pulled the trigger on herself. Many 'Slingers do it, especially those with a Gun like hers. Hell the King of Hearts was famous for killin' its user. Earn'd its name for it in the end…

Poor woman. I can't know what it's like to lose someone like that. Hell on earth, I'd guess… I hope you don't go through that kid. You seem good. Hell, you'd listen to an old senile man just to hear his stories. That's nice enough! He he he…

Another one? Okay, I'll give ya another story. Somethin' more upbeat I think. Ain't many of those to be honest. How 'bout somebody gettin' what they deserve? Yeah, alright! This is the story of the 9 of Clubs: The Dragon's Claw…

"What the hell is it?" Asked Kyran, his blonde hair moving softly in the breeze. They'd been trekking through the mountains bordering Vale and Vacuo for about a day now, and both Him and Bluebell were tired. She'd been born and raised in the mountains, so Kyran knew he had a good guide in his friend. As they set up camp, Bluebell had found a small cast iron box, locked tight. Unlike Bluebell, Kyran had grown up in Vacuo, and had picked up certain skills… including lock picking. The lock on the front of the box was old and rusted, but still clicked open with a few movements from 2 hairpins. The inside of the box was lined with red cloth cushions, but they protected was the more interesting thought.

"Looks like an old pistol." Said Bluebell, as she lifted the weapon carefully out of the box. "Like Great War old. Weird though... It's in pristine condition.

"Well, nearly pristine." Kyran took the gun from Bluebell and looked down the side of the barrel. "Somebody scratched something into the side of the barrel, but I can't make it out." He took the gun by the grip and lined up a shot. "Wonder if it still works…" Kyran pulled the hammer back, and all hell broke loose.

A banshee's wail echoed through the mountains, forcing Kyran and Bluebell to cover their ears. The gun clattered to the ground, before rising back up, pointed to the ground. From the grip, a silver glove began to appear, flowing up into an arm, then a chest, which formed the rest of the body, and a young woman's head and face. The 2 huntsmen looked on in horror as the ghost clicked her neck, checking the gun over.

"So…" She whispered, almost like her voice was carried on the wind. It had a slight sense of antiquity to it, like a long drawl from old Vacuo. "He's shuffling the deck… couldn't let the game end, could he?"

And she walked. With purpose, she holstered the gun to her side as her ghostly form became corporeal, revealing her dress to be a brilliant silver and white, with a large, dark red stain formed around the right shoulder. The side that missed an arm.

She stopped suddenly and turned to the 2 Huntsman, who had somewhat composed themselves, but still looked terrified. "Which way to Vacuo?" They both looked at each other, before Bluebell gulped and pointed her in the right direction. The ghost smiled "Thanks missy. Good luck out here, these roads are as dangerous as the people who walk 'em.'" She flashed a smile and wandered off into Vacuo.

"They were very nice." She thought herself. "Weird clothin' though. Shame they'll both die soon..." And so she wandered into the deserts, gun in hand, in search of the ancient oasis of Vacuo…


	7. The 9 of Clubs and the 4 of Spades

**The 9 of Clubs: Dragon's Claw, and The 4 of Spades: Chaos**

Alright, I lied a bit about the Gun in this story. Make that GunS actually. See, this story is really 2 Guns: The 9 of Clubs: Dragon's Claw, and the 4 of Spades: Chaos. I've focused on stories about single Gunslingers so far, but I think you want somethin' more excitin'? So, Chaos and Dragon's Claw. Two of the smartest Gunslinger's I've had the pleasure of meeting. They figured that people would try to kill 'em for their Guns, and so made a pact of sorts. They protected each other, and in return each got to live.

It worked. 1 Gunslinger is terrifying, but still a viable target to a gang. 2 'Slingers was a death sentence. The only people who could take on somethin' like that were other 'Slingers. Those kinds of fights are legendary, but this one ain't no legend.

This is about 6 months after I started livin' in Midway, and it was a bad time. Midway was big, but far from Vacuo, and outta reach for many Hunters and Gunners. You guessed where I'm goin' wit this?

The Merrick gang. Those bastards were vicious. All ex-military, with enclaves across the Kingdom. They were organised, and had equipment to the nines. They were more dangerous than any Gunslinger might be by sheer numbers alone. And they'd just set their eyes on Midway. They Kept the town in an iron grip. They were tryin' to pull off a 'Bleed'. ya hold the town to ransom for some unreachable amount of Lien, and if they don't pay, kill a random citizen. Despicable, if ya ask me. Their leader, Grey Merrick, performed all the kills. Brutal sonnuva bitch. Heard he fought durin' the Great War, and it broke somethin' in 'im. Turned 'im into a merciless killer, who rounded up gangs smaller than his, and either forced them to join 'im or killed them off. Mean bastard…

He held Midway in an iron grip for a good three weeks before the Gunslingers got word. He'd killed 3 people by that time, an' I knew he wouldn't stop. I just hoped I wouldn't get picked, I suppose…

Then the Brothers rode into town. Aaron Cind, holding his rifle loosely in one hand, and Gavin Croche, his pistol holstered at his side. Each rode in on a white horse. I got a good look at the 2 as they trotted down Main Street past the bar I tended. They were a striking pair to look at. Gavin wore red and orange clothes, with a long coat that ended in 2 pointed tails. Aaron wore the clothes of a farmhand, with an off-white shirt. What drew my attention to Aaron was his snow-white hat, done in the style of the Chrysanthemum monks in Mistral. Flat rim and a rounded top, rather than the traditional Stetson peaks.

Their arrival wasn't silent. Merrick's followers had spotted the pair as they galloped towards Midway. They were ready for 'em, takin' defensive positions on balconies down Main Street. They burst from cover, readyin' pistols and rifles and takin' aim at the Gunslingers. Merrick stood in the centre of the road, arms outstretched, like he was welcomin' the Slingers.

"Gunslingers!" He yelled, so the whole town, no matter where the people were hidin', could hear him. "Glad ya could join us! Jus' in time for the lottery, too!" He and his men laughed, and the Slingers leapt of their horsies, sendin' 'em back the way they came. Each squared up, castin' long shadows as they stared at Merrick. Aaron was the first to step forward, as Gavin lit up a cigarette. "Your criminal days are over, Merrick! Let these people go!" Aaron's voice was young, but filled with conviction. He was tryin' to keep himself restrained, but clearly failin'. He was angry, angry that innocents had died because Merrick said so, and he was lettin' it show. I admired the kid. Had more balls than me to go up against the Malicious Merrick. He couldn't have been older than 20, probably born after the Great War.

Aaron still had the lever-action in hand, and looked ready to use it. Merrick wasn't havin' any of it. "Ha! You think I'll let these people go?" He laughed, as his lackeys joined in. Merrick stopped laughin'. "Not while they still got Lien to spare…" He had 'is hand over the gun at his side, and was ready to blow the pair o' Gunslingers away. His men took aim. All that Aaron did was chuckle.

"You know what they say Merrick?" Aaron asked, as Gavin flicked away his cigarette. "You play with fire?"

Gavin cracked his knuckles, and his eyes came alight. With a deeper voice, he yelled, "You get burned!" The revolver leapt out of the holster to his hands and a round shot off. He missed and hit a hangin' electrical light above some of the gunmen. They laughed at their good luck, and turned back to Gavin, who now had his other hand in the air.

Click.

The light exploded in sparks and fire, creating a storm that burned through the gunmen on the right side. Their screams filled the air, and Merrick looked slightly shaken. Then Aaron came into play. He ran down the road towards Merrick, and took aim with his rifle at the 3 gunmen on one of the ledges. Bang, click. Bang, click. Bang, click. 3 rounds left the rifle, and hit the legs of the shooters. Not a kill shot. They'd seen what happened when the other's celebrated their luck. They didn't want theirs to go sour.

Too bad for them. Each one begins seein' things, fleein' the balcony and runnin' for the hills, shootin' at invisible foes. Merrick had lost his soldiers and was alone. He wasn't scared though. Far from it, from what I could see. He strode forward, arms still out stretched. "Alright! Party tricks are over! Think you can take me on? COME ON THEN! SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT!" Man was certifiably insane. You don't taunt a Gunslinger without knowin' you'll win.

The 2 Slingers stepped forward, side-by-side. Towards Merrick, and levelled their guns at him. "Any last words?" Asked Gavin. Merrick stayed silent. "Good," Aaron said, "We weren't gonna give you any." Both pulled their triggers.

Chaos hit first, black ash exploded out from Merrick's chest. Then came Dragon's Claw, engulfing Merrick in searing flame. Merrick still walked. The pair fired again and again, but Merrick walked on like a man possessed. He shrugged every blast of fire and ash, and reached the pair with nary a scratch. Aaron gave up on shootin' and tried to throw a punch at Merrick, in a last attempt to get a hit in.

When Aaron hit, he knew somethin' was wrong. He didn't feel flesh. He felt metal. He looked up at Merrick like he was a monster. "They did a lot to me in the army." Merrick explained as he gripped Aaron's throat, lifting him into the air like he weighed nothing. "But I gotta admit, I liked this!" He threw Aaron down the street, turnin' to face Gavin. I couldn't sit at the side-lines anymore. I grabbed a pistol and stood in the doorway of the bar. Merrick had grabbed Gavin by now too. I cocked my revolver, took aim at Merrick's head and fired.

I thought I'd got him. I'd swear to the Gods I'd have killed him 2. I heard the shot connect, and even saw Merrick's head jerk forward. I smiled, thinkin' I'd dropped the bastard, but his head just swivelled to face me. He threw Gavin through a wood decking and broke out in a run. A run that aimed at me.

Now, I don't know what you're most afraid of kid. For me it's spiders. Can't stand the crawly fuckers. But when a man that just survived 10 shots to the gut and 1 to the head starts runnin' at you, you're gonna crap yourself and run. That's just what I did. I ran upstairs to my room, and my fightin' instincts kicked in. I'd expected to be robbed in the night at some point, so I hid a bit of protection for when that day came. I'd sequestered a double-barrelled shotgun and several 12-gauge shells in the event of a robbery. Few guns without suits attached inspire fear like a double-barrelled monstrosity. If anything had a chance at slowin' Merrick down, It'd be that gun.

I chambered a pair of shells and slid 6 more into a pocket. I stood at the edge of the stairs, well in cover, and waited for the Bull to rush me. But he didn't come that way. Ohoho no. See, whatever the hell the Army had done to Merrick, it didn't just make him seemin'ly invincible, but also upped his strength to go past what any Club might give you. That strength let him leap through my 2nd-story window and land in my home.

I was in shock. He strode towards me, and my brain clicked that I still had a shotgun in my hands. I pulled the weapon up and fired both barrels, lettin' the recoil carry my second shot up at his chest. The shot just bounced off of him. He grabbed me by my collar, and threw me out onto the street below. I flew with enough force to break through my wall, landing on the dirt with a crash. I felt my right arm break as I hit the ground. My shotgun was miraculously in hand, still smoking from my ineffective barrage. I clumsily loaded another shell, and watched as Merrick leapt from the hole in my wall and stride over to me. He un-holstered his pistol and stood over me. Pointin' the gun at my head, Merrick just says, "You had to get in the way, didn'tcha?" I pulled my eyes closed as I heard the ringing of a gunshot. My world exploded in pain as I felt the round pass through my shoulder.

Had Aaron not slammed into Merrick's arm, shifting his aim from my head to my shoulder, I wouldn't be here to tell this story, bless that boy. Merrick threw Aaron back to the dirt, and yelled "You're gonna be next, you sonnuva bitch!" He turned back to me, and what he saw didn't make him any happier.

I'd used the distraction to aim my last shot. Point blank, right at Merrick's neck. I pulled the trigger and let the shotgun spin out of my hands. If I missed or failed, I wouldn't be gettin' another shot. The pure force of the blast forced Merrick to step back in disbelief. I saw his neck, or to be more precise, the missing part. Sparks and oil leaked from the "wound" and I could see most of his flesh and blood had been replaced by robotics. He wasn't human anymore. Merrick looked at me and spat out a wad of blood-mixed oil. "The Flesh is Weak. The Iron is Strong." He repeated over and over again, as his arm slowly took aim again. I knew I was dead, as the animatronic Merrick cocked his revolver. I closed my eyes, and heard one last shot.

It didn't come from the revolver in Merrick's hand. Instead, Gavin had pulled off one last shot with Dragon's Claw. The round had embedded itself into the mechanisms in Merrick's neck, as they screeched out in anger. Merrick himself turned to Gavin with fear in his eyes.

Click.

Merrick's neck blew apart in a shower of fire, oil, metal and blood. His headless body fell to the dirt, and writhed in pain. the head itself launched into the air, and crashed into the ground, getting stuck in the packed earth a few inches from my head. I think that was what made me pass out.

It was over. Merrick and his men were dead. The town was freed. All thanks to 2 Gunslingers. 2 Gunslingers and me. The people left their houses, and began the long repair of the damage Merrick's men caused. Fear lifted from the town, and they thanked the Brothers for their help. However, it was Aaron and Gavin who I saw after I woke up in Doc Black's surgery. They were clearly tired, but had stuck around to make sure I was alright. I suffered only a minor fracture, but I still had to wear a cast for the next 2 weeks as my Aura began to heal me.

I stayed in the bar, which was out of commission while repairs went ahead, speakin' with Gavin and Aaron. They were interestin' to say the least. I got many stories from them, but they're for another time. What I did learn was how the 2 earned their Guns. Gavin was once a farm hand from a small village called Mygan on the border to Mistral. Aaron was actually a Faunus from Mistral who travelled south to experience the world beyond Mistral. They'd both by chance played in the same poker game in Mygan, and that was how they'd met the mysterious Dealer.

Gavin pulled the 9 of Clubs, Dragon's Claw, and was given a beautifully crafted pistol, with metal that shimmered red like reflective scales. The base of the grip had a bone claw jut out from the base, while the grip itself had a large 9 carved in on the left side, and a large club symbol surrounded by the outline of a lizard-like eye. The Gun's power was that each round could ignite and explode at the click of Gavin's finger.

Aaron, however, pulled the 4 of spades and was given Chaos. The rifle was well made, with deep, crimson-coloured, wooden furniture, and gleaming golden metal sections. The wood was carved with nonsensical patterns, like swirling storms and jagged stars. It was accurate, but worked best if the shot hit a body, but didn't kill. When you were hit by Chaos, you start goin' through hallucinations, and start seein' stuff that just didn't make sense. It made most run in fear.

The two were nice, polite gentlemen, but they eventually had to leave, but not before half the damn town offered their Lien in payment. They both refused, and even paid for each beer I pulled for them durin' my recovery in full. They left on horses they bought and travelled back out into the desert.

Most of the town never saw them again, but I kept up through tales and letters. Aaron sent them at my request, so that we might keep in touch. It lasted for a while, and I learned that he and Gavin had eventually parted ways. Gavin wanted out of the fight, and left Aaron unexpectedly about a year after I met the pair. I thought I wouldn't hear or see Gavin again, but a night shortly after I received that letter put me right.

It was a rainy night, which was rare in Vacuo, and I was cleanin' up the bar when I hear a hammerin' at the door. Odd for a night like this, and robbers don't usually knock. I shouted that we were closed, and the voice I heard nearly sent me to the ground.

"Even for the guy who once saved your life?" Gavin laughed. He was soaked through, even though he was weain' a brown cloak to keep the rain off. I rushed him inside and pulled him a beer, excitedly askin' about why he was here. He'd been smitten by a girl here when he first arrived, and wanted to take her as his wife. Turns out Aaron wasn't the only one sendin' letters. When I asked about Aaron, his smile disappeared.

"He doesn't see a life past bein' a vigilante." He explained, some pity in his voice. "When I said I wanted out, he raged at me over our brotherhood and my 'betrayal'. He stormed off without another word, an' didn't give me a chance to explain myself. I miss the bastard to be honest… But I wanted out, and that's why I came here."

I didn't ask anymore questions. None needed to be asked. Gavin said thank you for the beer, an' tried payin' for it. It was on the house, in celebration of his upcomin' marriage. Gavin left town before the sun raised, girl in tow. I didn't speak much with their family, on account of her father bein' a minister, but I congratulated them on the marriage quietly one Sunday afternoon. I didn't hear from him again, but he left me one memento. His Gun, Dragon's Claw. I never used it, but kept it with me for years before the Dealer came to collect.

Eventually, the letters from Aaron stopped to, an' I hope he found peace in the end. I don't know what happened to Chaos, but I'd assume the Dealer got it back. He always does in the end. I hope both made up over their argument, and found the endin' they wanted. I know they didn't, but still, a man can dream.

Alright, another story? The Dealer! Hah! Not drunk enough yet kid. Maybe another weird one. Okay, try the 8 of Hearts. The bitch that is Karma…

 **Vale, far from danger**

Gavin sat on a porch, looking at the mountains that framed his backyard so perfectly. At the old oak tree that provided shelter in winter and shade in summer. At the shed he haphazardly built to house his old memories and gear. At his 10-year-old daughter, moving swiftly and skilfully with a blade that he knew she could handle.

Life was good. This was what he had always wanted. Peace, serenity, safety. It felt good. He sat back with a book on Grimm varieties. The bastards were grim, that's for sure. He couldn't be sure, but something told him the Guns had something to do with it. He didn't let it bother him, and went back to reading.

"Gavin?" Lianna asked, her voice still as sweet as when she said yes all those years ago. "There's somebody here for you!" Odd, nobody came by unless they were selling something. Gavin put down his book and headed to the door, giving Lianna a kiss as he went by. He pulled open the door, and was met by a ghost.

Aaron had changed a lot since that night in the desert. He now sported a greying beard, an eyepatch over his right eye, and thick survival gear. His white hat still hadn't changed, though. Gavin could hear Lianna gasp at the sight of him. Gavin turned his head to look at Lianna, "'Anna, can you check on our daughter for a bit?" She nodded quickly, and walked outside quickly. Once the door shut, Gavin turned back to Aaron, face grim.

"Upstairs. Now."

He unlocked the spare bedroom as Aaron stepped upstairs. His right foot made an odd wheezing sound as he walked. With Aaron inside, Gavin locked the door, and swung around to punch Aaron. His fist connected with Aaron's face, knocking him back. "By the Gods, what are you doing here? I told you I didn't want to see you again!" He yelled. Aaron leapt up and pushed Gavin against the wall, before letting him go. Anger wouldn't get them anywhere. Aaron stepped back and sighed.

"The Dealer found me." He said, voice full of dread. Gavin felt his body drain of blood. The Dealer was bad news, no matter who you were. "What'd he say?" Gavin asked. "He gave me a warning. He's readying another game." Aaron sat down on the bed. "Not for now, but later. 60 years later. 100 years after the gunfight at the O.K." Now Gavin was confused. "Why would he tell you that?" he questioned, "Why warn you about an event that'll happen when we're dead?"

"That wasn't the warning." Aaron replied. "He warned me that 'Old sins aren't easily forgotten', though I got no idea what that means." Aaron suddenly seemed on the verge of tears. "Look at me man."

He pulled up a trouser leg and revealed a crude metal mechanism in place of his leg. "I got hit by a bomb placed in my car 2 months ago. The leg is temporary, though that's only because I've got 2 months left to live. The damn DEALER shows up, talkin' about old sins, an' then I get a bomb in my car! I'm a dead man an' I know it. I found you by searchin' you out, so I could warn you. Warn you and make amends."

Aaron stood up once more, and following a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up when you wanted to leave… I should've realised you wanted out." He grabbed Gavin's shoulders, and pulled him into a hug. "You got a good life here." Aaron said, holding him by the shoulders, "don't waste it."

Aaron walked away, without another word. Gavin came downstairs after processing everything, and saw his wife waiting in the kitchen. "Was that…?" Lianna asked. Gavin gave a small smile. "Yeah, that was Aaron. He… He hasn't got long left." Lianna gasped and rushed to hug him. "You are a good man, Gavin. I wouldn't have married you otherwise…" Gavin smiled. Even at his lowest, Lianna could always cheer him up. They shared a kiss, and Gavin stepped back outside.

He stood on the deck, and stared at his daughter. She moved like a gymnast, twirling with blade in hand towards imaginary foes. He walked over to her, waving at her to stop. Her sword came to a standstill, and eventually swished into its scabbard. She hugged him tightly. "How are ya, Sunshine?" Gavin asked, voice full of smiles.

"Great, dad! Did you see my moves?" She asked excitedly. "Whoa, did I see them? I've never seen anything like 'em!" he beamed, lifting her up into the air. He realised he couldn't keep the conversation away for too long. He wouldn't be able to talk about it then.

"Listen Sunshine. You know I won't… always be around… so you gotta promise me something… Ok?" he could feel his voice choking up at the subject. This isn't something a father should tell his 10-year-old daughter, but it had to be said. She nodded, and that steeled his will once again. "You gotta promise me you'll be the bright cheery little ray of sunshine you've always been. Can you promise?" He held out his pinky, to show the seriousness of the situation to his daughter. Nobody broke a pinky promise.

"I promise Dad." She said, locking her pinky with his and shaking. "Good girl. You've got to be strong. All good Huntsmen are. And you are gonna be the best one ever." He said. Her eyes lit up. "Thank you dad! Want to watch me practice?" he chuckled and said "Sure thing sweetie."

She went back into her pirouettes and lunges, all with the skill only a natural Huntsman could have. She was so strong. Stronger than he was, just like her mother. He was glad he took her surname in the end. Gavin Rose had a nice ring to it. And they couldn't have chosen a better name for their daughter. Named after Lianna's favourite time of year.

Summer. Summer Rose.


	8. The 8 of Hearts: Karma

**The 8 of Hearts: Karma**

So… I want to ask… Why'd you want to know so much 'bout the Cards? You ain't lookin' for 'em, are ya? Huh, good; Those lookin' for the fabled "Lost Cards" are both stupid and wastin' their time. Like I said, last Gun left the world when I was 60 years old. None are left. I mean it. There ain't another in the world like the Dealer. I can tell. When you meet the Dealer, you always know where he is. I haven't felt 'is presence for years, so he must be gone.

An' if you are lyin' to me, an' are tryin' to get a Gun, I hope you take my stories as a word o' warnin'. All the Cards come at a price; be it physical, mental or spiritual, alright? Ok, good. Don't forget that…

Ok… Back to the stories! This is a weird one, I might add. For the life o' me, I still can't understand this one. The 8 o' Hearts. Karma.

I was still in Midway when this Slinger walked into town. He was very much an oddity amongst Midway's civilians. He wore these long colourful robes of satin and silk, reflecting light like silver. His head was covered by a large, well-prepared turban, which sat over his black hair perfectly. His eyes were a deep brown colour, and his skin took on a caramel complexion in the Vacuo sun, kinda like yours. He got all manner of looks when he wandered into the tavern. I nearly dropped the glass when he sat on a bar stool in front of me. I regained my composure and asked him for an order.

"Just some water, my friend." He replied. His voice was smooth like velvet, an' he spoke like a grandfather to an excited child. I poured out his glass of filtered water, an' asked him where he was from. All he said was "I have travelled far, and the journey has been tough, but I am now here in Vacuo. What more can be requested of a journey?"

Yeah, I noticed he dodged my question, but I didn't ask 'im again. My Knack told me not to. He HAD been through a grand and arduous journey, but he also carried a great weight on his heart. I know. My Semblance, while useful, is also a bit of a poet. Either way, I knew I shouldn't bother askin', so instead, I asked 'bout the journey.

He told me one of the most amazin' stories I've ever heard; stories of far flung Islands and places I'd never heard of, of sea monsters and dangers that no mortal could understand, and off treasure and hardships aplenty. I had to snap myself out of my amazement to remember I had a job to do. He finished his story, and said, "This journey has taken most of my life. It is a life, I am glad not to repeat." He smiled; showin' of a yellowed set of ivories, and drank his water.

That might have been the end of it, had poor little Eachann Smythe not spoken up. Eachann was a Faunus, fox ears pokin' out of his modified Stetson, and had been through a lot. His mother was one of the people killed by Merrick a few months back, and he'd lost his father young. His farm was strugglin' and the kid jus' didn't seem to have much luck on his side.

"You think your life's bad?" He shouts, silencing the whole bar. "You don't know shit, old man! I got no Mam or Dad, an' I'm only fuckin' 16! I can't make a single Lien on the sand out here, an' anythin' I do have is almost gone! You call that ba…"

Eachann had gone silent because of this elderly gentleman. This 'old man' had pulled a Card. It was an odd lookin' thing. The revolver was split down the barrel. One side was a piece of fine art, well preserved, and perfectly made. On the shaped Ivory grip was a large black H, on top of a red 8. On the other side was a dented, ruined piece of black metal that formed one half of the barrel. On the burnt, wooden appendage that formed the grip, was a bleedin' heart, with a angular 8 over the top.

When that Gun was pulled, I leapt into action, tryin' to calm the inevitable fight down. Eachann holds his hands up, tryin' to show peace. "Look, I-i-i-I didn't mean nothin' by it, sir. I jus' been ha-ha-havin' a bad time as of late! Heh heh… oh Gods don't shoot me!" But the wanderer was havin' none of it, an' I duck as he pulls the trigger.

Click. Nothin' happens. No blast, no smoke, no screams. Ev'rybody looks from the wanderer to Eachann, who looks like he'd jus' seen heaven an' hell all at once.

"Now tell me how you fell." Asked the wanderer, as he slipped the Gun back into its holster. Eachann is checkin' himself for bullet holes at this point. "Well…" He says hesitantly, "I'm not dead…" The wanderer furrows his brow and asks wit' more urgency, "How do you feel?" Then Eachann's eyes light up.

"I feel like I could do anythin'. Like nothin' can stop me! Haha… I feel… I feel lucky!" He grabs a jacket, and hugs the wanderer tightly, before rushin' out the bar. The wanderer goes back to his water, like nothin' happened. As for the rest of us… We're tryin' to figure out what the hell just happened!

We got our answer about 6 hours later, when Eachann came back with a briefcase of lien, that he'd won in an all out bet in the Palace Casino a while away. Then we'd clicked it. The Gun didn't kill; it gave people good luck. So now ev'ry Tom, Dick an' Harry wants to get shot in the face by this strange man's weapon. Word spread to towns nearby, and soon lines formed up damn Main Street to meet the man with the lucky Gun. But that all changed when Charlie Dufraine arrived in town.

I've mentioned Dufraine before. Bastard is one of the world's 4 major Dust Tycoons, alongside Schnee, Paul-Harris and McClair. What set Dufraine aside from his equals was his relentless search for money. Where the other Tycoons all at least took human an' faunus rights into consideration, Dufraine stomped all over them. He had Dust farms where only the owners were paid, an' people worked for 20 hours a day. Of all the bastards in the world, Dufraine was the worst.

He'd arrived in Midway 'bout a week after the Miracle Man an' 'is magic Gun. A fuckin' procession of carriages bearin' "Dufraine Dust Enterprises" drove through the town, not carin' if people got in the way. He pushed to the front of the queue, past the blind and poor, backed up by his 2 bodyguards. He was a squat man, more like a bowlin' ball than a normal human. His face was scrunched up, like he perpetually smelt somethin' bad. Might have been him!

Anyways, he sidles up to the wanderer an' says, "Now sir… I hear you have the amazin' quality o' giftin' the needy luck. Now I think you'd agree when I say I'm the neediest here? So work your magic on me friend!"

The wander has this odd, slightly smug look on 'is face, but all the same, he drew his pistol an' held it out at arms length. This fucker Dufraine drags the barrel so it touched his forehead. "Wouldn't want you missin' now!" Dufraine cackled. He closed his eyes an' smiled. The wanderer pulled the trigger.

This time, it wasn't silent. The chatter of people in line stopped with the sound of a single gunshot. Dufraine's body fell to the ground, a neat hole now present in his forehead. The wanderer smiled, blowing smoke from the barrel of his revolver, as Dufraine's body began wetting the dirt beneath it with blood and grey matter.

A scream rang out, an' the people ran. They ran for their lives, but Dufraine's bodyguards surrounded the Wanderer, knocking him to the ground. They would kill him, an' the guy was only old. He couldn't shoot back reliably. I saw a need, an' I went to help. I drew my pistol and fired 3 times in quick succession. All three struck the bodyguard in front of me, but didn't kill. Now I had a pissed off bodyguard starin' at me, an' readyin' to throw a punch.

Then he died. A round blasted through his skull from the side, an' he dropped dead. The other guard looked over at his friend, an' he died 2, as a shot went through his chest. I looked over to my right an' saw none other than Eachann Smythe up on a balcony, shouldrin' a lever-action Buckingham rifle. He tipped his Stetson at me, an' went back inside his house, not sayin' a word. I picked the wanderer back up, who simply dusted himself off, asked him what the hell just happened. All he did was smile, an' begin walkin' outta town. At the town limits, he simply turns to me an' cracks the biggest smile I'd seen.

"Karma's a bitch…"

They found his body about 2 days out from Carrol, a week's travel from Midway. He'd apparently suffered a heart attack, an' the gun wasn't found in his possessions. All he had on him was a note, which had "The Dufraine family send their regards." His body was transported back to Midway to be buried. I requested that I could take a strip of his cloak to form a memorial in the bar. Nobody complained, so I took a small strip from near the neck.

I saw somethin' nobody else did. On the side of his neck were 3 faded heart tattoos, each one crossed out in black ink, and around his neck was rope burn. I didn't draw attention to it, an' kept it to myself. It made this whole thin' a whole lot messier. Someone had put a hit on that kind old man. Someone with ties to Dufraine. Someone who knew a Gunslinger.

I wouldn't find out which Gunslinger until much latter, but that's a story for another time… one for when I'm much drunker. I did a bit of diggin' around the wanderer, an' found he was called Siyavash Darya, an' he was a preacher who'd come across the Dealer in Menagerie. This was weird to me. I'd only heard of the Dealer appearin' in Vacuo up until now, but I guess he ain't attached to one place…

Alrighty then. Another? I got a good one for ya too. One that'll make you quiver in your boots! The 5 of Diamonds: Meatgrinder…

 **In The Palace Casino. After the death of Siyavash Darya**

He stood face to face with the dealer he'd met a few weeks before, anger burning bright in his soul. Siyavash didn't deserve to die like he did. He only wanted to help those in need. And in all honesty, Dufraine deserved what he got. The dealer stood before him, shuffling a deck. "Ah... I remember you..." he said calmly, "The man who won with a Royal Flush. You were real lucky that day, young man..." He smiled, and laughed like a man about to kill an old enemy. He couldn't hold back now, and grabbed the dealer by the collar.

"YOU BASTARD!" He shouted, throwing the dealer back over the card table. "YOU LET HIM DIE! YOU SENT SOMEONE TO KILL HIM. YOU GAVE HIM THAT CARD..." The dealer straightened up at the sound of cards hitting the floor. "Alright, you crazy bastard... You want to avenge Siyavash? Then play a hand and draw your fate."

With those words, the casino around him died. Silence filled the room, and only he and the dealer were here. In a blink of the eye, the dealer changed from the kind old gentleman he'd met that week ago, to a man in black, with a wide brimmed Stetson that shielded his eyes. he wasn't the dealer anymore. Now he was the Dealer...

The Dealer sat down at the card table, and withdrew a half empty deck from his coat. He bade the boy to sit down across from him, and shuffled the deck slightly. The Dealer fanned the cards out across the table. He picked the middle card, and looked at it, showing the Jack of Clubs. The Dealer chuckled quietly. "Jack of Clubs: Judge. Play or fold." The boy took a long pause, and looked at the Dealer closely. "Play, if you tell me the name of the man holding the Card that killed Siyavash..."

The Dealer went quiet, then burst out in laughter... "Why the hell not. Siyavash's killer is called Jack Ketch. Good luck boy..."

And with that, the Dealer was gone, and the boy was left holding an old pistol, with a black handle. He dipped his Stetson low and began walking to the exit. He now had the means and the man. now he just needed the place. With Judge at his side, he wouldn't be stopped. He would kill the murderer of Siyavash. With the sun riding high, and a Card at his hip, Eachann would kill James Ketch. The man who held Hangman's Noose.


	9. The Jack of Clubs: The Executioner

**WILDCARDS: TALL TALES**

 **THE JACK OF CLUBS: THE EXECUTIONER**

You want a story about the cards kid? They're all bad news, you should keep away from 'em. What, don't believe your old man huh? Alright then, let me tell you a story. A story bout the meanest Card I ever saw…

Back when I lived in Nevada, in a crummy little outpost town on the way to Carson City, I was a horse tender. I had my way with animals, like few did, so I got paid well enough by travellers who were looking to stay the night. Now one day, we had a fella come in from way out in Utah. Lived in Salt Lake City, one of those mormon types. Right on the edge of the Frontier too. Didn't envy the man then. Certainly don't now.

Anyway, he pays for 3 nights, which was rare amongst the travellers in these parts. 3 nights was what he paid for, and three nights was what he got. Young man spent the night in Shelby's, this old inn that catered to travellers. Well one night, this young mormon forgets his vows and drinks heavily into the night.

Says 'is name is Joshua, was about 20 years old. Young man had been a mormon all his life, and eventually wanted out. Couldn't blame the man, but he felt it was a big mistake. Said they'd set something on him, something mean. Joshua spends the next 2 nights restless as hell, tossin' and turnin' in his bed, calling out a ladies name.

Rosie.

Rosie over and over again, before he'd wake up in a cold sweat. Poor lad. He's clearly got somethin' troubling him fierce right? How'd I know all this? Well Shelby told me, ya dolt! She's the sorry woman who had to take care of the kid! Told me every word he said and went through. Said he planned to leave the next mornin' and continue on into Free California.

Well he never got that chance. Dust storm rocked into town, way to trek through. Joshua though, this Joshua wanted to make the trip anyways! Said "If I stay here I die! Damn it!" Me and Shelby, we had to lock him away to stop him killin' himself out there! Part of me wishes we hadn't. We should have just let him die out there.

Hell of a lot more comfortable than what he got.

The storm eventually settled, and I went back to work. Not a moment too soon, because as I go back to my stables, I see a lantern light on the edge of town. This bright white light, suspended a few feet in the air. Riding this huge black horse, the latern's owner came up to the stable. She was an older woman, black and wearing heavy cloaks. She looked like a crow, come to feed on the dead.

She asked if a Joshua Cole had ridden into town, an' I said yes. The woman got down off her horse, and paid for a nights stay. Something told me she had no intension of staying that long. She glided over to Shelby's, barely moving. I crept behind her, trying to make as little noise as possible…

Ruffling the dust off her coat, the crow lady walked into Shelby's. As she did, a rifle rose out from out of her coat. It was an old thing, without love nor care. The wood was all splintered, the metal blackened and battered, and covered in scratches and marks. I peaked around the corner and watched madness unfold.

Joshua had been eating at the time. Bread an' homemade soup. You couldn't beat Shelby's soup. Well old Josh, he looks like he just looked the reaper in the eyes. His skin turned white, and he reached for a pistol. 3 shots rang out, 2 slammed through the woodwork of Shelby's, another went straight through, leaving a hole a few inches from my head.

The crow lady just kept on walking forward. Joshua tried firing again, but had nothing laft in his gun. "Joshua Cole" the crow lady started, "You stand charged for betrayal and the murder of a child." Joshua killed a kid? I couldn't quite believe it. Joshua himself is out of his chair, up against a wall crying his eyes out. "The sentence is Death." The crow lady spat out like it was a curse. "How do you plead?"

Joshua is breaking down at this point. "I didn't mean to, please! Oh god don't kill me! It was an accident!" He went on and on saying he did nothing. The lady didn't move and inch. Eventually Joshua just gave up, and said "Rosie was such a sweet girl. I never wanted anything to happen..." The Lady stayed quiet. "You are found guilty. Say your prayers, criminal."

The Lady's rifle sang a single note, and Shelby screamed. Joshua's head was left a mess of blood and bone, and the Lady walked back outside. She must have heard me, because she stopped to look at me, crying in fear holding the dollar she gave me. "Listen child." She whispered, leaning down to me. "That man was a bad person, who deserved what he got. Don't end up like him."

She picked her rifle back up, hiding it away in her coat. I saw something scratched into the stock. A name. "The Executioner". I knew it had to be one of the Cards, there was no doubt about it. The lady got back onto her midnight horse, and rode on away. I never saw her again, and not too long after I went to Carson City myself, lookin' for passage to Free California. Shelby kept her inn open, and hoped to God that no more Cards wandered into Dusk. As for Joshua, we buried him in a nameless grave, as all Criminals should. I never saw another Card, and hoped I never would.

That's why the Cards are so scary child. You never know who might have one, and you'll never know what it does. They are a horrifying thing kid. Just remember that, and you'll do fine.

Behave well, and you'll never meet The Executioner.

Author Note: First off, Sorry for the massive hiatus. Work and college have a habit of getting in the way!

So, thanks all of you so much for all the support you've shown over the past 12 months. I started this project as an experiment in writing, and to see your support and love means a massive amount to me. Thank you all.

However, I realise my link to RWBY is getting more and more stretched by the chapter, and so I've come up with a solution. I will continue posting chapters here including the RWBY link, but now also have a Tumblr dedicated to this series with no links! Follow the link here: .com

Again, this series is still alive and well, and this story was just a sample of what you can expect on my Tumblr.

Thank you once again, and carry on carrying on!

\- mfordy24


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